


human

by adietxt



Category: One Piece
Genre: Hurt Sanji, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Specific warnings inside, Whumptober, protective Zoro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-11-26 01:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20922008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adietxt/pseuds/adietxt
Summary: vii/ isolation & viii/ stab wound & ix/ shackled“Where is the rest of your crew?” One of the marines asks, and his voice isn’t particularly loud, but it sends adizzyingpang to Sanji’s head. He groans, closing his eyes to collect himself.“Don’t you fucking touch him,” he suddenly hears a familiar voice replying.Shit, Zoro.They got him too? “Don’t you dare lay a finger on him, or —”“Orwhat, Roronoa?” Another marine, the one standing nearer to Sanji, taunts back. “What can you evendo?”





	1. i/ shaky hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at [Whumptober](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/post/187356400823/october-approaches-and-so-does-whumptober-2019)! I'll probably combine 2-3 prompts a lot to catch up with the days, oops. Hope you'll enjoy a lot of Sanji getting hurt and Zoro getting distressed over it.
> 
> Ratings have a high chance to go up in the future due to possible graphic depictions of violence. Specific warnings are included at the top of each chapter, please make sure you read them and stay safe!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been two months since they got Sanji back from the Vinsmokes, and Zoro can still see the way Sanji’s hands shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: n/a

It’s been two months since they got the Cook back from his pathetic excuse of a family. He’s a little worse for the wear, but nothing he has not lived through a thousand times before — a bullet wound and a couple of punches can barely make a dent on the Cook that Zoro knows.

It’s been two months since they got Sanji back from the Vinsmokes, and Zoro can still see the way Sanji’s hands shake.

Zoro would’ve missed it if he weren’t looking for it, but these days he can read his lover like a book. Zoro knows Sanji’s emotions run deep, deeper than most; they’re so visceral sometimes it’s difficult to watch, to breathe around the shape of it. Zoro also understand that some wounds are not physical, and the thing the Cook has with the Vinsmokes — whatever it is — is carved _ deep_, beyond flesh.

_ Are you okay _, Zoro doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t ask stupid questions, doesn’t waste his breath to ask something that he already knows the answer to. The wind brought Sunny to a fogged in waters this morning, not unlike the fog the Germa ships used for camouflage in the stories he heard from the others, and Sanji’s hands trembled so hard he made a cut on his thumb during breakfast preparations. 

Instead he takes a hold of Sanji’s hands, interlacing their fingers together, his thumb rubbing the back of Sanji’s own.

Sanji’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Zoro —“ he sputters, but the rest of his sentence dies when their eyes meet.

Zoro doesn’t say anything, because he knows Sanji understands what the gesture means — _ I’m here. _ Not a promise of an outcome, but a resolve. That Sanji will have Zoro, always. They stay like that for a while, Sanji’s hand in Zoro’s, unspoken words hanging in the space between them. _ I’m here_.


	2. ii/explosion & iii/delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a blinding flash of light, and the world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: ear injury, emetophobia (vomiting), allusion to third-degree burns

There’s a blinding flash of light, and the world is turned upside down.

Sanji groans at the bright sunburst of pain blooming at the base of his skull, and it takes him a moment to realize that he might have been knocked away by the wind from the explosion. His ears are ringing, his head hurts like _ hell_, and it’s suddenly very hard to breathe, like there’s a band wrapped around his chest that’s tightening by the seconds. What about the others? He needs to find them, he needs to make sure they’re okay —

_ Fuck_, it’s so hard to think. 

His head is _ pounding _ now, and there’s something warm trickling out of his ears, down the sides of his face. Well, that explains the ringing, at least. Probably explains the disorientation too. He distantly remembers Chopper talking about the relationship between hearing and balance and —

The world spins again, and he’s throwing up.

When he comes to again, he’s already hunched over on his hands and knees, bile at the back of his mouth, today’s breakfast a messy pool of sludge underneath him. He needs to _ move _ , at least find someplace safer, but which way is up and down again? Even _ breathing _ already feels like a chore. His body must’ve run out of adrenaline or something too because he slowly begins to feel all the different cuts and wounds along his body and — more importantly — the _ heat_. It’s _ enveloping _ him, along his skin, like an itch that refuses to go away, begging to be _ felt_.

Where even _ is _he, anyway? What even happened before this explosion? He remembers a war, something involving the yonkous, and then... he’s drawing a blank. That can’t be a good sign.

It feels like _ days _ until he feels someone crouching beside him, and a hand is placed on his shoulder. He’s somehow on his back now, rubble and debris digging into his back uncomfortably, but that means he only needs to tip his head to the side to see who it is. It takes him moments to even do _ that_, his movements sluggish now, but he finds himself smiling at the sight anyway.

His vision is a blurry mess, but he would know that shade of green even in his sleep.

“Nami and Robin are okay, everyone’s okay,” Zoro says, without preamble. Already knowing and allaying his concerns even before Sanji needing to ask. “You can rest. I’ll get you to Chopper.”

“I knew —” He pauses, and it takes a couple of coughs that _ wreck _ throughout his body, but the pain is worth the chance to finish his sentence, “I knew — we kept you around for _ something_, Marimo.”

Zoro _tsks_, and the gentle way he wraps his arms around Sanji’s shoulders and under his knees betrays the annoyed scowl on his face. “Go to sleep, Cook.”

So Sanji does.


	3. iv/human shield & v/gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The marine towers over Usopp, seemingly uninterested in the _alive_ portion of their bounty poster. He straightens his back, ready to pull the trigger —
> 
> “Get your hands away from our sniper!” Sanji yells, and the marine staggers, surprised. It gives the Cook enough time to close their distance, but he’s coming from the back of Usopp with meager time to land a hit on the man, and Zoro is suddenly hit with the thought of, _he wouldn’t, would he?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canonical character death mention (Kuina)
> 
> Still rushing through the prompts lmao, this is less whump and just...giving Zoro emotional distress? So I guess this is Emotional Whumping

Zoro doesn’t know if he can make it.

He’s running, faster than he’s ever remembered being in his entire life; he can feel his lungs burn, the wind rushing in his ears, but his sight is set on one person — _ Usopp_. Most importantly, though, the barrel of the gun that’s pressed against Usopp’s head.

From the corner of his vision, he can see Sanji running from the other side of the battlefield, clearly noticing the predicament their crewmate’s in, too. Sanji is usually faster than him — not that Zoro would admit this out loud — but even this time Zoro doesn’t know if _ Sanji _ can make it.

The marine towers over Usopp, seemingly uninterested in the _ alive _ portion of their bounty poster. He straightens his back, ready to pull the trigger —

“Get your hands away from our sniper!” Sanji yells, and the marine staggers, surprised. It gives the Cook enough time to close their distance, but he’s coming from the back of Usopp with meager time to land a hit on the man, and Zoro is suddenly hit with the thought of, _ he wouldn’t, would he? _

Because Zoro is more than familiar with Sanji’s proclivity towards sacrifice, the way he clings onto one’s life except his own. _ Tell the others to find a new cook_. Suddenly he feels his throat and mouth go dry, the memory of their encounter with Bartholomew Kuma leaving a sour taste on his tongue; of course Sanji _ would_, for the sake of his _ nakama _— ten times over, a thousand times over.

There’s a loud _ bang_, and even in the middle of the cacophony, the sound is deafening.

“_Sanji! _ ” Zoro _ screams_, because he doesn’t know what else to do; he sees Sanji’s head snap back from the impact, his whole body pushed back, hitting Usopp, and something cold fills Zoro’s chest, his heart a crushing lead weight.

Zoro watches Sanji’s body crumple against Usopp. And then he sees nothing at all.

When he comes to, he’s pulling Kitetsu out of the Marine’s stomach, almost in a trance. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he feels like he was ten all over again, Kuina’s body lying at the foot of the stairs, unmoving — 

“Shit, fuck, that _ hurts_,” a familiar voice says from behind. “It hurts like _ hell _ even with haki —”

Zoro doesn’t remember turning back and walking towards Sanji and Usopp, but he finds himself pulling the Cook up by the collar, yelling, “What the _ fuck _ do you think you were doing?”

Sanji smacks Zoro’s hand away, scowling. “Uh, you’re _ welcome_?” he spats out, “in case you haven’t kept up, I saved Usopp’s life.”

Zoro steps into Sanji’s personal space, leaning in until their foreheads almost touching. “By throwing yourself in front of a bullet?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Sanji pushes back. “Calm down, Mosshead, it takes more than a bullet to kill me. Or what — are you actually _ worried_?”

Sanji says the last one with a smirk, probably trying to lighten the mood between them with something familiar, but Zoro’s heart is still pounding in his ears, and he just _ can’t _ take this, the way Sanji offers himself up like a sacrificial lamb. Zoro remembers being a kid, standing in front of a grave with a white sword clutched between his fingers, crying so hard his ribs hurt like knives.

Sanji understands sacrifice, but he doesn’t quite understand what it is like to be the one left behind.

So he covers Sanji’s hand with his own instead, closes his eyes, and says, “yes.”

Sanji falters at that. “What?”

“Yes, I’m worried,” he breathes, lets the words tuck itself in the space between them. “You can’t keep throwing your life away like it means nothing. You’re _ not _ nothing, Cook.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Zoro waits, until he can feel Sanji’s free hand brushes his cheek softly. “I’m sorry,” Sanji says, voice low, almost a whisper, his breath warm against Zoro’s lips. “I didn’t mean to — it’s hard, to unlearn these things.”

Zoro feels his face warming, embarrassed by his sudden outburst. “Just,” he clears his throat, “do better next time, Cook. You’re better than that.”

“I will,” Sanji says, the smile on his face a soft and small thing, and Zoro kisses him.


	4. vi/dragged away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The water is ice cold when he hits the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drowning, suffocation

The water is ice cold when Sanji hits the surface.

He can physically _ feel _ his body temperature drop by a couple of degrees as he is pulled into the freezing water, the cold sinking its teeth into his skin, chilling him all the way to the bones. He struggles to catch a glimpse of — the _ thing_, whatever the fuck it was that caught him by the legs as he tried to save Chopper from drowning — but all he sees is pitch-black darkness, as if the sea itself is trying to swallow him. 

_ Fuck._ The sight sends a different kind of shiver down his spine, and he instinctively scrambles for purchase, clawing at the tentacle latching onto his right legs to no avail. He can feel the water pressure pressing down on him, increasing by the seconds, and he distantly remembers being a little boy at the Baratie, listening to stories from local fishermen about the wrath of the seas.

It only takes a few more seconds before a searing pain _ blooms _ at the top of his chest, spreading downwards and inwards. It catches him off guard, and before he knows it he’s _ inhaling_, water shooting up his nose and throat.

And then it _ burns_.

It feels as if someone just poured molten, hot lava down his lungs, the heat shooting from his chest and sweeping through his entire body. His throat spasms, and he feels like throwing up, except there’s water everywhere and he can’t breathe, fuck _ he can’t breathe he can’t breathe — _

There’s a loud _ blast_, somewhere below him, and he’s suddenly _ pushed _ by the shockwave. The water around him is washed red, and he should be free now, but his limbs feel heavy and he still can’t fucking _ breathe _ —

There’s an arm wrapped around his chest, and something — someone — is pulling him up, away from the red. The chest pressed against his back feels familiar, and he instinctively relaxes, even when he rationally knows he isn’t safe yet. _ Zoro, _ his brain supplies, and he tries to tilt his head, because if he dies at least the last thing he wants to see is —

The next thing he remembers, he’s lying on the deck of Sunny, tears in his eyes, coughing up water and possibly both of his lungs. Everyone is doing a lot of things at once — there are hands patting his back, holding his arms. As he slowly comes to himself he notices Chopper hovering over him, worried, and he can feel Zoro’s hand rubbing the base of his neck comfortingly.

“Somebody call a doctor!” Chopper cries, drowning out Nami’s _ are you okay, Sanji-kun, _ and Franky’s, _ I’m so glad the torpedo worked, bro._

“You’re the doctor,” Zoro reminds him, and despite everything, Sanji scoffs. The chaos is oddly comforting in its familiarity, and he closes his eyes, letting the warmth of his crew wash over him.


	5. vii/isolation & viii/stab wound & ix/shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where is the rest of your crew?” One of the marines asks, and his voice isn’t particularly loud, but it sends a _dizzying_ pang to Sanji’s head. He groans, closing his eyes to collect himself.
> 
> “Don’t you fucking touch him,” he suddenly hears a familiar voice replying. _Shit, Zoro._ They got him too? “Don’t you dare lay a finger on him, or —”
> 
> “Or _what_, Roronoa?” Another marine, the one standing nearer to Sanji, taunts back. “What can you even do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: graphic depiction of torture — mainly drugging/poisoning and stabbing, peppered with the usual beat up
> 
> October has come and gone...but I will still try to finish this. Alongside the intimacy series, the two fics can function like a zosan hurt/comfort as a whole, haha.

Sanji blinks awake with the_ worst _ headache in the world.

His first instinct is to touch his temple, only to realize that he can’t; his hands are pulled back and above his head, joined at the wrists and bolted to the wall. It is an awkward angle, putting all the pressure of his body weight on his shoulders, one of which is probably dislocated. It’s throbbing like _ hell _ now, and he tries to take a good look of the damage, and groans when the movement just strains his arms more.

He blinks groggily at the figures across the cell, still in a half-daze — the drugs they slipped into his drinks haven’t quite run its course yet — and his vision is worsened by the blood dripping from his head wounds. At least they bleed; he remembers reading somewhere that the worst head wounds are the ones that don’t bleed, so, small blessings and shit like that, right? 

“Where is the rest of your crew?” One of the marines asks, and his voice isn’t particularly loud, but it sends a _dizzying_ pang to Sanji’s head. He groans, closing his eyes to collect himself.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” he suddenly hears a familiar voice replying. _ Shit, Zoro. _ They got him too? “Don’t you dare lay a finger on him, or —”

“Or _ what_, Roronoa?” Another marine, the one standing nearer to Sanji, taunts back. “What can you even _ do_?”

_ You have no idea what our crew can do_, Sanji wants to say, but all of a sudden there’s a hand digging into his head, pulling his hair; the pain _ cuts _ through his scalp, and he cries out, surprised. More blood drips from his head from the movement, trickling down his face, and it feels like the throbbing _ spreads _ along with it, from his temple all the way to the base of his spine.

“Where is the rest of your crew?” the marine with the coat repeats, taking a few steps nearer to Sanji. Coat Guy is near enough that Sanji could finally catch a glimpse of the thing in his hand — a glass syringe, filled to brim with silver-colored liquid.

Dread settles in his chest at the sight. He could handle cuts and punches just fine, but that liquid could be _ anything _.

“Fight _ me _ , you cowards!” Zoro yells from across the room, the rattling of his chains echoing throughout the cell room. “Don’t fucking touch _ him_!”

“I’ll ask you one last time,” Coat Guy asks. “Where is the rest of your crew?”

“Like _ he’d _ tell you,” Sanji sneers, smirking even though it makes the bruises on his cheeks throb just because he knows it would piss his captors off. “Listen here, motherfucker, this Marimo right here, he’d sell me to _ satan _ for less than —”

The rest of his sentences dies in his lips.

His vision cleared enough to see Zoro on the other side of the cell, and something caught in his throat when he saw the expression on the swordsman’s face — one he’s never seen grace this face before. It’s a mixture of — desperation, regret, and — Sanji can’t believe what he’s seeing — is that _ fear_? He thought Zoro was just putting on a show, but he isn’t so sure anymore. “Zoro —”

The syringe is plunged into Sanji’s neck.

There’s a lingering moment where all Sanji is aware of is a pinprick sensation against his neck, a quick sting before something cool shooting over and under the skin. The cold feels like it slithers along his veins, gradually drawing at something like the building of a static charge and —

_ Pain_.

It feels like someone’s pushed him over a cliff and _ pulled _ downwards — Sanji feels a _ drop_, his heart hammering in his chest, audibly failing, before fluttering into life again at a breakneck pace. Something’s digging into his stomach, and suddenly every muscle in his body seizes, spasming out of control against the chains. His mouth opens with a chocked cry, but he ends up dry heaving instead, his lungs refusing to move, burning raw and weighing down his ribcage like a stack of coal he can’t cough out. 

Somebody please stop this — _ fuck _ — somebody. Anybody. _ Zoro _—

“Cook!” Zoro’s voice pierces through the haze. “Cook — look at me. Look at me. I’m here.”

Sanji chokes himself into consciousness, staring down the stone floor of the prison. His stomach is warm and damp with blood, and when he looks down there’s a hilt of a knife sticking out of it. It throbs, like his heart is tucked alongside the ache of the wound and beating against the blade. This is — new. Unfamiliar. Sanji would say he’s pretty well-acquainted with the typical stab wounds, but this pain is something beyond that, like the knife slices impossibly deep into his nerve system, dizzying in its intensity.

“Oi, Cook, look at me, _ god damn it _ —” the voice returns, and Sanji blinks, sobering up. Shit. Zoro.

“I’m okay,” he quickly replies, before the stupid swordsman starts doing something reckless, “I’m — it’s fine, I —” he swallows, and tastes blood — fuck, he must’ve bitten his lip to the point of bleeding. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Zoro spits out, but doesn’t elaborate. There’s fear written all over his face now, raw and desperate, and deep in the haze of the pain Sanji can’t seem to figure out what Zoro’s afraid _ of_. Surely the idea of torture is not so daunting for Zoro, who faces death without so much of a blink of an eye. There must’ve been something else.

There’s no way Zoro is afraid _for_ Sanji — 

Sanji feels a hand rests against his cheek in faux-concern, and he feels sick at the touch. “How moving,” The marine comments dryly. “I almost teared up.”

“Shut _ up_,” Zoro replies, scathing. “Get your filthy hands off of him. What the _ fuck _ did you do to him?”

“Just a drop of my genius,” the marine replies, voice giddy with excitement as he raises another syringe, filled with the silvery liquid. “A dose of this and your senses are heightened tenfold — a touch would feel like a punch; a papercut would feel like a sword wound.”

As if to demonstrate, the man pats lightly at Sanji’s cheek, and the effect is instantaneous — he feels the touch pounding down to his skull like the beginning of a headache. His vision blurs and he coughs, close to throwing up.

“Now, it’s your choice, Pirate Hunter,” the other marine adds. “The location of your crew, or,” he gestures at the syringe. “Your friend gets another dose of this.”

_ Don’t make him choose _ , Sanji wants to say, knowing full well that Zoro _ can’t _choose — but exhaustion has settled into his bones like a welcome reprieve. He feels his body sag, pulling uncomfortably at his arms at an odd angle.

_ I’m sorry _, is the last thing he thinks of before his vision turns dark.


End file.
